


Sight

by JanitorBot



Category: Dororo (Anime 2019)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 04:27:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20252161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanitorBot/pseuds/JanitorBot
Summary: She'll never get tired of this.





	Sight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Prar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prar/gifts).

> Fic trade with Prar, my lovely friend who loves Dororo. I saw that the Dororo fic archives is really small compare to Mega Man, so here's another fic to add to that fandom's numbers.

Dororo was early as eight years old when she became grudgingly familiar with hunger.

She knows how being in survival mode warps everything: the body, the senses, the mind, and finally the spirit. She’s no monk, and most of the people around her aren’t monks either, but she bets (up to four copper mon and no more because unlike Tenma and Kenichi, she doesn't take chances with money like that) that even monks wouldn’t see a famine as a convenient trial for their faith.

But she’s twice older now, starvation a thin memory like a parted acquaintance long ago, and her perspective is clearer than it has ever been. She’s got more height too. Her eyes can take in the world without the manipulative haze of her body’s aches.

Dororo is standing at the yellowing slope of a low mountain around the curve of a well-trampled road, peering over what was once a flourishing river that cradled an equally flourishing city.

The river’s all dried up. It’s a road for the Asakura’s army to march through to get to Oda’s land down south.

So much for the great land of Daigo. Now it’s another scorched border strip between lands of other daimyos who have surpassed him.

“Dororo.”

Dororo didn’t hear any footsteps coming up behind her, but she never expects to hear anything from _Aniki. _Not that she really needs to put her guard up since most of the people camping on this side of the mountain are her men.

They’re neither bandits nor samurai. They can afford to trust one another.

“You finished exploring already?” she asks, turning around.

Hyakkimaru nods stiltedly. “We should leave soon. There were samurai down at the valley.”

Dororo groans. There’s no end to the greeds of warlords. “Was it an army?”

“Too few. Scouts,” Hyakkimaru guesses.

“Which family?” At Hyakkimaru’s silence, she asks,” Did you see what crest they were wearing?”

“A flower.”

“Lots of families have flowers for their crests,” Dororo says flatly though her twitching lips give away her amusement. “Geez _Aniki_, you need to start recognizing the families. We’ll be talking to them a lot and some of them get so stuck-up when they're interacting with _peasants,”_ she punctuates with a roll of her eyes.

Hyakkimaru tilts his head. "Tenma calls you 'lady.'" Implying that Dororo had evolved beyond the rowdy urchin with thief's blood in her veins. Except that's not true. She's as opportunistic like she's always been. Her battlefield has moved from the streets of petty crimes to the merchants' tables. 

"And I'm trying to get him to stop," she sighs, shoulders slumping. “Having gold and rice doesn’t make me some fancy aristocrat.”

Also, no self-respecting lady gets in the mud to help shove a wagon out of a wet ditch, but Dororo wouldn’t let her comrades do all the work when she’s got two perfectly working hands.

But honestly she can’t think of doing anything better than getting her hands dirty with her friends. It reminds her of the good times when she was little, of her dad's men before it went down in flames. 

She clears her throat and takes on a faux-lecturing tone. "We need to build good relations with the families so you're going to start talking to them too, got it?"

Hyakkimaru’s mouth curls up, more of a pout than anything, and Dororo snickers at the view. He’s so cute sometimes.

“You can talk to them. I’ll only watch.”

Like he has always done and always will. From the sides of the room where deals go, a silent and reassuring presence to her and an intimidating shadow to the ill-intentioned. If it was anyone else, Dororo would tell them off with a,” Geez, I can take care of myself!”

But it’s Hyakkimaru so she takes it. 

“Considering the Odas have been so active lately, it’s probably them,” Dororo muses, folding her hands behind her head. “We did get the travel permits to enter Ryozoji’s land this morning so we could start heading there. I can start rounding up the men and prepare the horses. I don’t want us to be here in case another stupid fight breaks out.”

“You’ll be fine,” Hyakkimaru says softly like a fact, and Dororo knows he doesn’t mean it’s because she’s loaded like an empress. His golden eyes are filled with fire, with a somber promise that he’ll keep her safe.

Dororo smiles, pleased.

Just as long as he’s within her watch as he is in hers.

“Still, we should start heading southwest anyway. Samurais are a jumpy bunch.” They have a tendency to see a bunch of men and horses in one spot, jump into the worst conclusions, and start bullshit Dororo doesn’t need. “I’ll tell everyone that we’ll leave at…” she scrunches her face. “Night? Does night sound good?”

“They’re still celebrating.”

“So they’re drinking their asses off, go figure. Well, we _did_ close a good deal with the Takedas,” Dororo laughs, shaking her head. “Dawn it is then. If they have hangovers in the morning, that’s their problem, not mine.”

Hyakkimaru comes closer behind her. Dororo can feel strands of his long hair tickling the back of her neck when he dips his head. “We have time.”

Dororo leans her head back against the man’s chest. Hyakkimaru’s bangs frame her cheeks and her entire world at that moment is this warm human with warm eyes and warm skin and it's a better sight that Daigo's dying land, than anything she's ever seen. She'll never get tired of this.

“We do,” she whispers being rising up on her tippy toes, closing the distance. 

They have all the time in the world now.


End file.
